Absolution
by Aidara
Summary: Remus grieves, and Harry forgives.


Author's Notes: For my sister, who always forgives, most of the time before I do. And for my mother, who taught me to do so.

Song: _Sing for Absolution_, Muse, Taste Media Ltd., 2003

_Lips are turning blue_

_A kiss that can't renew_

_I only dream of you _

My beautiful 

Nothing Remus could do would ever bring him back. He used to think that something would happen, some kind of miracle, and he would reappear one day, unchanged even by the years in Azkaban. He would appear as he did before the hell of those years: youthful, playful, beautiful. His smile would start slowly, like it did when he was sincere, not just laughing at a joke. Then it would move to his eyes, and Remus would feel that utter happiness he had always felt in the presence of its brightness, and he would know that it was really him.

After a time, though, Remus began to realize, almost unconsciously, that no such occurrence would ever grace him again. His fantasies began to decay. Sirius had already returned once, but that respite from despair was far too short a time for Remus. He became aware of the fact that he was facing the truth in steps. It was in the little things. Like the afternoon he found the mug Sirius had always used for tea collecting dust in the back of the cupboard and didn't wonder automatically why Sirius hadn't used it in a long time. Or the first time he didn't try to vacuum the armchair in his bedroom for dog hairs. Or when he forgot to expect that a black dog would teasingly jump up on him when he came home. But it was only the little things. Never did he stop to allow the gaping hole inside to become visible to the last person who couldn't see it.

Tiptoe to your room 

_A starlight in the gloom_

_I only dream of you_

_And you never knew_

He can't sleep any more. There is no difference between sleeping and waking now, and he can't convince his exhausted body that it hasn't been asleep for months already. On some nights, he makes himself a cup of tea, usually spiked with whiskey, and sits at the kitchen table, gazing into the darkness. The light bothers him. In the dark, anything becomes possible. Reality becomes skewed according to a particular will, and Remus can be whatever he wants to be. He can suspend time for as long as it takes, and soon it isn't difficult to imagine that Sirius may be standing at the counter, the darkness making him impossible to see.

Sometimes, however, imagination can only take him so far, and he is forced to resign himself to the daytime reality. On these nights, he creeps past the other doors where Order members sleep, to the end of the hallway on the third floor, where the door to Sirius's room remains closed off. Except for now. Remus has never said anything about the room, but the others haven't touched it, out of respect. He quietly opens the door and pauses, looking around: at the bed, the dresser, and the armchair, all bathed in cold starlight. He sees the squeaky dog bone that Harry had given his godfather as a joke once and which Sirius, after much denial, actually enjoyed chewing on in dog state. He resists the urge to smell it. Instead, he sits carefully on the bed, then slowly reclines until his face is sideways on the single pillow. It still smells like Sirius, musky and sweet and faintly doglike, but the smell is beginning to fade, and that scares the hell out of Remus. Sometimes he finds hairs on the sheets, dog and human alike, but they, too, are growing more sparse. A knot of panic rises in Remus's chest as he frantically presses his face into the pillow, sniffing as hard as he can at the fading scent. Then he worries that he could breathe it all in at once and then there really would be nothing left of it. So he stops abruptly, and exits the room to try to dream once more of a great black dog in the light of a star.

Sing for absolution 

_I will be singing_

_And falling from your grace_

It was the first day in which Remus didn't think about him once, didn't come across anything that reminded him of Sirius, that he finally broke down and cried. Quietly, of course, and well after the others had gone to bed. He hated himself for crying, for the weakness, just like he hated himself for forgetting. _This is the last time I'll abandon you, the last time I'll forget you._ _I wish I could. I wish you were as easy to forget as all the others, as easy to brush off as just another casualty._ _Sirius, you're already leaving me._

There's nowhere left to hide 

_In no one to confide_

_The truth burns deep inside_

_And will never die_

_Lips are turning blue_

_A kiss that can't renew_

_I only dream of you_

_My beautiful_

Of course, sometimes he questioned. Who doesn't? He wondered what it all accomplished. Not just the one death, but all of the deaths, all the pain, all the lost time, the lost childhoods. Where did it all lead? James and Lily had died to save Harry for a life of doubt, loss, and pain. He wondered if they loved and they hated and they died, all to no avail. Soon, his memories began to intertwine and moments of previous happiness eluded him. His faith began to erode as he contemplated over and over what good Sirius's death had led to. Would everyone else still be alive even if he hadn't gone that night? Or would someone else have taken his place? For that matter, what purpose did Remus's own existence fulfill at this moment? Why was he still there, and Sirius was not? He would gladly have traded places with him if it were possible. He was sick of being the one to lose everything. Damnit, Harry needed a father.

_Sing for absolution_

_I will be singing_

_And falling from your grace_

_Our wrongs _

_Remain unrectified _

_And our souls_

_Won't be exhumed_

Harry. Oh God, Harry. Doubtlessly, the boy blamed himself. _And why shouldn't he? _Remus thought on those nights when the darkness seemed to overwhelm, leaving no room for rational thought. _Harry was the one who drew him there in the first place._ Soon, though, reason would come back to haunt him mercilessly. How could the boy have known? How could he not have wanted to save his godfather from certain death? Because that is why he went to begin with: to save him. God only knew what kind of torture he must be going through. No, it was not his fault. It was the fault of everyone else. Dumbledore should have told him (damnit, he should have _told_ him), Severus should have found the grace somewhere within him to overcome a schoolboy grudge, and Remus. Remus should have made sure they were continuing with Occlumency lessons, he should have insisted that Dumbledore teach the boy himself, he should have forced Sirius to stay home, he should have _caught_ him before he fell through the fucking veil...

Blame was easy to place. Not doing so was almost as impossible as admitting that he was gone.

Then, one day during spring break, when the children (hardly children any more) had come home for the week, Remus was sitting in the kitchen at night, sipping tea and staring at something in his head. Someone walked into the room; he heard the scuffling of feet, but remained silent. The door of the icebox opened, shedding a brief rectangle of light before closing again. A cupboard opened, and liquid spilled into a glass. Remus watched as the black-haired figure drank deeply, his head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. The entire time, Remus wasn't sure it was real, after so much time spent convincing himself that Sirius was there at the counter, standing in that exact spot. Then the figure pulled out a chair at the table and sat. Only then did it realize that there was someone else there.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you," it said hoarsely. "I'll just...go."

Remus blinked, and saw. "Harry?"

Harry stopped at the door. "Sorry."

"No, it's all right." A pause. "You can stay, if you'd like. I just...can't sleep," Remus finished lamely.

The younger man seemed to think for a second, then turned and came back to sit at the table.

"Neither can I. But there's nothing unusual there."

They were silent for a time, each gazing into their own thoughts about the other, wondering if their reasons were the same.

"Do you still miss him?" Harry asked abruptly, because the late hour does away with the need for small talk.

Remus started, drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly.

"I'll always miss him, Harry." He paused, and looked at the young man in front of him, at the face hidden by two hands that had done so much good already for such a short life. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Sometimes...I hate myself. I tell myself it was all my fault."

Tears formed in the corners of Remus's eyes. "Oh, Harry, no, nothing was your fault. If anything, it was mine."

Harry looked up at his former professor, and a half smile formed on his lips. "I was going to say that then, I finally realize that no one is to blame. It just...happened. There's nothing anyone can do about it, and it's a stupid thing to try to make it reasonable or less painful."

Remus finally allowed the tears to flow. This boy, a boy who was half Remus's age, had found the truth before Remus had been willing to admit it to himself. He stood up, walked to Harry's side of the table, and, for the first time in memory, pulled him, his best friend's son, into a hug. If there was one good thing that had come of all the pain and trials, it was Harry. And as long as Harry was still able to forgive, they had hope.

"Hope," Remus whispered into Harry's hair, not knowing that he'd spoken it aloud.

"Yes." Harry pulled away and smiled. "There's always that."


End file.
